the joker and the thief
by wonderstance
Summary: In which Chrollo is killed by Hisoka and Machi keeps her promise. "I would pursue you to the ends of the Earth to kill you."


title: the joker and the thief

summary: In which Chrollo is dead and Machi keeps her promise. "I would pursue you to the ends of the Earth to kill you." –Machi, Hisoka.

pairings: Machi/Hisoka and some Chrollo too.

note: If I know how to write a proper story, this should be around three chapters in total.

* * *

She can't say she's envisioned this before—not hypothetically, definitely _not_ in her wildest _goddamn_ dreams.

When Hisoka asked her what she'd do if he killed Chrollo, she'd told him that it'd be an impossible feat. And sure, the notion of Hisoka killing The Phantom Troupe's leader did _technically_ teeter in the realm of possibility and reality but she wouldn't actually admit that to herself aloud. And she never actually thought the clown-faced freak would go through with it.

What was that stupid saying about empty promises? Regardless, Hisoka was good at them, or at least that's what he led her to believe.

And now, in some twist of fate, she learned she'd been wrong all along.

Because here he was. Her leader. Her comrade. Her _friend_. Dying on the ground. Her hands in his chest cavity trying to salvage the damaged organs.

His ragged breathing. His open wounds like lakes and his blood like licorice, coagulating and fading into black.

She was too late.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this. (So did he) but she put on the best look of nonchalance she could manage and continued working, the threads between her fingers paving a seamless path around his heart.

"Machi."

Her eyes widen—it's the first time he's made any attempt at actually talking; it's her first time actually showing some kind of reaction.

When she arrived on scene, she kneeled into the dirt and started working without a word. She assessed the damage, took notes in her mind and spun her thread without even missing a beat. The mark of a seasoned veteran.

But all her years of experience couldn't have prepared her for this.

 _Please_ , she thought to herself. _Please don't die_.

Machi had always been content with silence (in fact, it was her preferred norm), but she had to admit that his voice gave her a feeling of relief. But it was brief as she came to the painful reality that she might just be witnessing his final breath.

"Machi, stop," Chrollo stated calmly, a blank look written on his face as he stared up into the sky.

Sure, she enjoyed his presence. But she hated the fact that he was so difficult to read.

Before, it was something she appreciated. Because it kept her on edge. Like her, Chrollo never wore his heart on his sleeve. But now, it was beginning to become a nightmare.

"Machi."

But she wouldn't stop. No. Giving up was the last thing on her mind. Of all the Troupe members, she was one of the fastest. _Shoot_ —maybe she was going over board. Technically, the title really did belong to Feitan, but he wasn't the one to arrive on scene first, so wouldn't that make her the fastest? Another stupid, silly irrelevant detail clouding her thoughts.

Her fingers were delicate, and so was her technique, to a certain extent.

Machi was meticulous, and deft—but that never took away from her agility, her fingers moving in a blur. Yes, the last time she used this technique was on Hisoka after his showing at the Battle Arena, but she tried to brush off this fact as she wrapped her fingers around her leader's heart. The realization only made her realize how much of a bitch irony could be.

She was trying to sew him together. Piece him together like a puzzle. Except, this time, the puzzle pieces were frayed and shattered.

With the best of her ability, she wasn't sure if it would make a difference. But she'd be damned if she didn't at least try.

"Machi."

Suddenly, Chrollo lifted his arm up and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her rather small hands out of his chest cavity in one fluid motion.

There was a slow, resounding _squish_ as her fingers released his (quite literally) broken heart and she was trying to find reason why the beating pump inside her chest was feeling the same way.

She turned to say something— _anything_ , really—but came to the slow realization that he was gone.

Eyes closed, heart still.

From behind, she could sense someone familiar. A Troupe member, but she couldn't quite discern who it was. Maybe she was getting rusty at this whole thing—and maybe she wasn't cut out to even being in this line of business. After all, she couldn't even save the only thing that truly, truly mattered to her. What right did she have protecting the rest of the members of The Troupe?

"Machi—what the hell happened?"

From the voice alone, she knew it was Phinks. Shame. A wry smile formed on her lips. She really thought it was going to be Feitan.

Slowly, she unwrapped Chrollo's limp grip from around her wrist.

* * *

Machi buried his corpse by herself.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the rest of The Troupe members, but there was something particular about the way she wanted things to look.

Yes, she'd never been the _picky_ type and she didn't actually know how things like this were supposed to go. Even Phinks made some offhanded judgment about her usual indifference to certain human "casualties" like this. Which really pissed her off and led to her slamming her fist into his face.

But it was different this time.

Maybe because she felt like she had a hand in this.

But maybe even more so, she respected Chrollo Lucifer. There were few men in the world she'd give her life for, and he was on the top of the list. (The only one on the list, really)

If only she'd been there in time—if only she figured out things quickly.

* * *

 _"What do you dream about, Machi?"_ He'd asked her once upon a time.

 _Dreams_ , of course. There were dreams she had. But most of her dreams were in retrospect. She'd never been the type of girl to look toward the future, anyway.

But he had. That was all Chrollo ever had; that was all her ever worked for. The future.

She clenched her fists. Machi wouldn't let his death be in vain.

There were a dozen white roses planted at his tomb stone. One for each spider. And an extra one from Machi.

Feitan stared at her with his eyes narrowed, "What will you do now?" And the question he didn't ask: _What will_ we _do now_?

Slowly, Machi stood up—cracking the joints in her tired knees. She was sore, but this was nothing compared to the pain their leader went through. When she remembered this, a small smirk formed on her lips.

Closing her eyes, she replied, "I'm going to kill Hisoka."


End file.
